


Wolves

by xenadragon_xoxo



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Depression, Friendship, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-30
Updated: 2013-10-30
Packaged: 2017-12-30 23:09:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1024485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xenadragon_xoxo/pseuds/xenadragon_xoxo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some nights, Draco can’t sleep, and he wanders the castle in search of something that constantly eludes him – solitude from dark contemplations and thoughts that threaten to smother him with each passing moment. Tonight is one of those nights. This time, however, he finds someone along the way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wolves

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.
> 
> Notes: Written for day ten of Tricks for Treats on hd_writers This can be considered pre-slash and set in “Eighth Year”. This fic has not been beta-ed, so bear with me! :)

_There are nights when the wolves are silent and only the moon howls. ~ George Carlin_  
  
Some nights, Draco can’t sleep. Some nights, Draco lies awake in bed for an unbearable amount of time, logic and reason no longer present in any remote corner of his mind, wandering dangerously close to thoughts that he prefers to keep locked securely within a strong iron box in an untouchable corner of his brain; thoughts that he always subdues and tries to pretend he never had. The problem with thoughts is that once they cross your mind, they never leave it.  
  
Tonight is one of those nights, and Draco can’t bear to lie on his four-poster bed, which is the only one in his dorm still occupied, in the cold dungeons for one second longer. He doesn’t want to think about why he’s the only Slytherin who came back for his final year, and he doesn’t want to think about the fact that the only reason he did come back is because he wouldn’t have had a roof over his head otherwise. He doesn’t want to think about these things, and so he doesn’t. Instead, he gets out of bed.  
  
Usually, at the point, Draco creeps into the Slytherin common room to sit by the fire. On most days, the warmth from the hearth is enough to lull him into a fitful sleep. Sometimes it takes a bit of homework, a couple of textbooks or a game of Wizard’s chess against one of the portraits in the common room, but eventually, he drifts off. Sleep is usually preferable to thinking of the dark that plagues his mind. But tonight is different. What use is escaping those perilous thoughts he has when awake, only to be ensnared by nightmares in sleep?  
  
Draco gets dressed and sneaks out of the dungeon. He’s been caught out of bed after curfew once or twice by teachers, but most of them give him a light reprimand and tell him to go ahead and clear his mind. Is that what he searches for when he wanders through the castle? Peace of mind? Because if that’s what it is, then he certainly isn’t going to find it here, in a building that holds far too many memories to be considered calming.  
  
Despite the obvious futility of searching for serenity or anything similar, Draco paces through the castle anyway. The novelty of Hogwarts has worn off for him; the corners are familiar, the disappearing staircases are easily stepped over, and he knows every possible twist and turn that a hallway can decide to take. What he needs, he realises, is something new, something usual to keep his mind occupied. It’s really quite a lot to ask for.  
  
To be honest, Draco has no idea what he’s searching for – he just knows that he’s searching for  _something_ , and that the  _something_ constantly eludes him, no matter how hard he tries to find it, and in its place lie scattered frustrations, hopes forgotten and memories shattered. Despite the repetitive, predictable routine that wandering Hogwarts creates, Draco continues to search somewhat desperately for something he can’t find.  
  
It is, of course, as Draco enjoys the dark quiet of the corridors of the school that  _they_  come – slowly at first, simply creeping into the more silent spaces in his mind, seeping into his thoughts almost soundlessly and inaudibly, threatening to overthrow him. Insecurities, doubts, fears and demons all begin to crowd into his already throbbing head, slowly but surely suffocating him, almost drowning him in dark contemplations that he’d much rather keep locked safely away, but for some reason, can never seem to.  
  
It’s almost odd how these thoughts are mostly dormant throughout the day, but come out in the dark like bats, almost as if they thrive in the moonlight, preferring to take shelter in shadows and make themselves known as Draco rounds obscure corners and stumbles unknowingly and unwittingly upon them. If Draco pays attention, he can sometimes catch glimpses of them slithering silently and undetectably underneath the stones of these hollow hallways, worming their way towards him and eventually slipping easily into his overcrowded brain.  
  
There’s a sudden noise, a metallic sort of groaning, and Draco turns to the side and sees a door slowly form in the wall, sprouting out of nothing and gradually spreading until it stretches across a large expanse of what had previously been brick. Ah, he must have stumbled upon the left corridor on the seventh floor – the once-secret location of the Come and Go Room. He hasn’t come near it since one of his best friends perished within the Room of Hidden Things, too afraid to discover what haunting memories wait for him there. But something draws him in, enticing him. Perhaps it is the need to find something new and unique and exciting. Whatever it is, it works, and Draco finds himself pushing open the door and stepping into the room.  
  
Draco’s sight is instantly greeted by what appears to be a large, grassy plane that stretches out for an infinite distance in all directions. He glances around, taking it all in, wondering how it is possible for such a beautiful and realistic picture to be painted by illusion and magic. Then again, most beautiful things are.  
  
There’s smoke rising a little ways off, and Draco can just make out a fire burning. For a second, an irrational fear that has stayed with him since his experience with Fiendfyre rises within his chest, but he forces it down and determinedly begins to pace towards the flames. As he approaches it, he realises that the fire is of a much larger scale than he originally estimated, and his curiousity, which has dried up in the past few months, is instantly piqued. He moves closer to investigate.  
  
Whatever Draco is planning to discover upon closer inspection, it certainly isn’t Harry Potter standing in front of a pile of burning wood, shadows playing on his features and bright green eyes further illuminated by the dancing embers before him. When he hears Draco approaching, he looks up, an expression of surprise forming swiftly over his features only to be replaced, moments later, by a quiet sort of resignation.  
  
“Malfoy,” he greets cordially.  
  
Draco nods in acknowledgement. He knows he should demand to know what the other man is doing here, or at least turn away in quick dismissal, but he does neither of those things. Instead, he asks, “Where are we?”, and it’s something he hadn’t meant to sound so polite about, but it comes out that way, and the softness of his own voice startles him somewhat.  
  
Harry – as Draco has come to think of him – smiles, and although it’s genuine, there’s a sadness behind it that makes Draco wonder if he isn’t the only one at Hogwarts suffering like this. “I think it’s called the Room of Refuge,” he states. “I found it a month ago.”  
  
Draco surprises his own self by walking closer and standing easily next to Harry. Their shoulders brush briefly, and Harry turns to look at him and smiles again. Draco surprises himself once more by smiling back. They both return their attention to the fire playing before them.  
  
“What you here for?” Harry asks, after a moment of quiet gazing.  
  
“I don’t know,” Draco replies shortly, and it’s the truth. “What about you?”  
  
Harry pauses, then says, “I’m here because of the wolf.”  
  
Draco frowns, not quite understanding. “The wolf?”  
  
Harry nods slowly. A minute ticks by in silence, and Draco has begun to think that he won’t be receiving an elaboration when Harry speaks again. “I see it all the time, everywhere, all around me. Teeth that snarl and growl over the remnants of my sanity, misshapen claws tearing what little I have left out of me and ripping it to shreds, bit by bit, in front of my very own eyes.” He pauses, then says, “It’s the wolf that brings me here, time and time again.”  
  
Draco considers this, then says, “I think I’m here because of the moon.”  
  
This time, it is Harry’s turn to look puzzled. “The moon?”  
  
“I see it all the time, too,” Draco murmurs. “It’s hidden, sometimes, behind clouds of numbness that have been blown across it by chills, but it’s always there, lurking somewhere and waiting to spring upon me when I least expect it to. It carries uncertainty and loathing, and it’s all I can do not to let it take over everything, even the sun, and leave me in half-darkness forever.”  
  
They’re both quiet for a moment.  
  
Draco changes the subject. “Did you light this fire?”  
  
Harry shakes his head. “No. This is the first time it’s ever been here.”  
  
“Really?” Draco says. “That’s odd. It’s really rather big, isn’t it?”  
  
Harry smiles a little. “It’s a bonfire.”  
  
Draco snorts. “A bonfire? What are we celebrating?”  
  
Harry smiles again. “We’re celebrating being lost,” he says, so softly that Draco almost can’t hear him. “Being lost, and being okay with it.”  
  
Another silence, and then Draco startles both Harry and himself when he reaches out and gently grabs Harry’s hand. Draco has surprised himself many times tonight. Perhaps the unique, new something he’s been searching for is somewhere within him, after all.  
  
Harry doesn’t try to mask his surprise at the gesture, but he gives Draco’s hand a gentle squeeze, and Draco doesn’t feel quite so bad any more.  
  
They have shared several minutes simply staring into the dancing embers when Harry suddenly lets go of Draco’s hand. Draco looks up and sees Harry handing him a pink, possibly alcoholic drink in a sparkling glass, and holding another one for himself in his other hand. It looks rather out of place in the valley that they stand in.  
  
“What’s that?” Draco asks.  
  
Harry shrugs. “I dunno. They just appeared in mid-air next to me. You weren’t thirsty, were you?”  
  
Draco shakes his head, although he was, and accepts the drink, taking a tentative sip. It’s sweet, but there’s something else in the flavour that he can’t describe. It’s like warmth and hope and a fire all wrapped into one. It’s like drinking emotion, but Draco isn’t sure what emotion this is.  
  
“There will be many more nights like this, won’t there?” Harry asks suddenly.  
  
“Yes,” Draco replies truthfully. “But I’m tired of hiding from them, aren’t you?”  
  
“Yes,” Harry responds. “I am.”  
  
A brief pause, then Draco speaks again. “They’re part of us, you know, these nights.”  
  
“Part of us how?”  
  
“They’re the broken bits, I think,” Draco states. “Long-lost aspects of us. And hiding them will only make us lose a part of ourselves that we can’t be complete without. And denying them –”  
  
Harry finishes his sentence for him. “ – will only give them more power the next time.”  
  
Draco nods, then reaches out for Harry’s hand again. Somehow, the mist that covered him a moment ago, creeping around his façade of confidence and clouding it over, has lifted slightly, as it often does with the coming of morning and the promise of a new day. It dissipates into a barely noticeable fragment that latches itself onto his shoulders, the same way it does almost every day – only this time, his back doesn’t feel quite so much as if it is breaking under it.  
  
“Wolves are really just big pups, you know,” Draco says after a moment.  
  
Harry chuckles. “And the moon is just a means of shining light down upon us.”  
  
Draco smiles, and, standing before the bonfire celebrating the haze that lays upon him, hand-in-hand with someone who feels exactly the same way as he does, he slowly, but surely, starts to believe it.  
  
 _The End, and The Beginning_


End file.
